


crack the darkest sky wide open

by Hymn



Series: Hymn's Fic: The Castlevania Collection [2]
Category: Castlevania (Cartoon)
Genre: Depression, F/M, Hopeful Ending, Multi, Non-Explicit Sex, Post-Season Three, Recovery, Trauma, Vomiting, absolute clusterfuck of a fic, aftermath of rape, also a wolf - Freeform, alucard is a peeping tom, am i doing, i don't know what this is, it is...something, look if you've seen season three to the end, of which alucard watches without sypha or trevor knowing, then you know what we're dealing with, what the fuck
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-11
Updated: 2020-03-11
Packaged: 2021-02-28 23:27:38
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,889
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23105476
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hymn/pseuds/Hymn
Summary: Alucard is tired of being human. He is also tired of being a vampire, and most of all he is tired of being neither and both of these things at once. It would be easier, he thinks, if he could be all one thing, rather than a creature between. Less guilt that way. Since he can’t undo the sin of his parents, Alucard transforms into a wolf.
Relationships: Alucard | Adrian Tepes | Arikado Genya & Trevor Belmont & Sypha Belnades, Alucard | Adrian Tepes | Arikado Genya/Trevor Belmont/Sypha Belnades, Trevor Belmont/Sypha Belnades
Series: Hymn's Fic: The Castlevania Collection [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1659679
Comments: 28
Kudos: 240





	crack the darkest sky wide open

**Author's Note:**

> i'm so sorry, i don't know what this is, i'm just...i'm just gonna allow it to exist anyway

  
  
  
  
  
  


Alucard is tired of being human. He is also tired of being a vampire, and most of all he is tired of being neither and both of these things at once. It would be easier, he thinks, if he could be all one thing, rather than a creature between. Less guilt that way. Since he can’t undo the sin of his parents, Alucard transforms into a wolf.

It hurts. The weapon Taka and Sumi used on him has left more than physical scars. His powers are still weak; _he_ is still weak. Weak and gullible and broken.

For the first time, Alucard allows himself to feel hatred.

On his way out to the woods, fur bristling, muzzle wrinkling, Alucard takes a piss on Sumi’s corpse. He thinks neither his mother nor his father would have approved. But maybe Sypha would. Trevor, he thinks, _definitely_ would. It makes the hurt ache a little less, until he remembers: they left him.

He is alone.

He is always, always alone.

\--

The time he spends in the woods is strange. Sometimes he is a beast, sometimes he is himself. Twigs tangle in his hair, his fur. Dirt beneath nails, beneath claws. The clean cold water of the creek making his belly cramp, rippling with panting breaths, rippling with dripping tears. He unravels. He comes apart. He howls his grief, and it sounds as lonely and aching in either form.

Eventually, he wanders back home.

\--

The corpses of Sumi and Taka are gone, the pikes removed, the ground scrubbed clean of blood and gristle. Alucard sniffs about, catches wind of familiar scents: fire and magic; steel and leather. Alucard knows what this means, but it confuses him. It hurts him, his ears flicking back, his tail tucking. He whines, crouching, flinching away. 

He is alone.

He is always, always alone.

So it makes no sense that Sypha and Trevor have returned. They left him. They _left_ him. He had thought at first, perhaps, that they might venture back to him when they grew weary. Might come and greet an old friend, a comrade forged in battle and blood. He has dreamed of Sypha’s hand on his arm, of Trevor’s lazy insults. He thought if he only waited, they would think of him. Would visit. Would speak to him. Would touch him again. 

Would...love him.

(he has dreamed and dreamed and dreamed and dreamed—)

Alucard runs.

\--

After the running comes the outrage that he is running. Alucard turns instead to darkness, to shadow. He becomes a creature of the night, stalking a hunter and a magician, a beast warily circling his prey. He will kill them before they can wound him. He will destroy them before they can break him. He will rip out their throats and replace the spiked bodies they got rid of with their own fetid corpses. He will—

“God, for fuck’s sake, Sypha!” Trevor growls. “Watch the splatter!”

“A little boiling water won’t kill you!”

—suffer in silence as they ruin his pots, apparently. For fuck’s sake, indeed. They are attempting to make some sort of root soup in his kitchen. It is fascinating to watch, if a little nauseating. Sypha dumps paprika in. Trevor adds lard. They both take turns slopping boiling water around the pot with the flame too high.

It smells...foul.

“I don’t know if this is edible,” Sypha says, nose wrinkling. 

Her blue Speaker robes are stripped off, left draped across a chair. Trevor’s cloak is a messy sprawl of muddy fabric on the opposite chair. The room is warm because the cooking flame is _too fucking high_. Alucard undulates in the shadows, full of menace and outrage and pure shock. How dare they come in here, lay claim to this space as if they belong. 

How dare they add _fucking_ tomatoes to that _fucking_ pot.

“Okay,” says Trevor, hair limp and sticking to his sweaty face as he peers down into their shit show soup. “Okay. _Okay_.”

“Okay?” Sypha asks, prodding him in the back with a finger. “Okay _what_.”

“This is definitely not edible.”

No fucking shit, Alucard thinks, still fuming.

He leaves them there in his kitchen, likely ruining his best knives along with his copper pots, the same ones his mother taught him to cook with. He cannot stand to be there any longer. The thick smell of the disastrous meal makes his stomach turn over, makes him feel full of maggots, makes him want to run and run and run and never stop. 

He runs until he hits a lake in the woods, and then he dives from four legs to two straight into the icy cold water, as if it might shock him into sanity.

It does not.

He swims to shore, heaves himself up onto solid ground, and vomits.

\--

Once again, Alucard is darkness, gathered in the folds of clothes, the corners of ceiling beams, the splits in the wooden floorboards. He is spying. He is waiting. He is watching Sypha and Trevor as they prepare for bed, arguing quietly and with the worn, fond tones of familiarity.

“We’re not fucking in this damned mauseleum,” Trevor protests, tugging his shirt up over his head.

Sypha sniffs a little haughtily. “It is this or the outdoors, and I know how much you enjoy sex in the wilderness. You soft, _soft_ man.”

“Splinters, Sypha. I had splinters for a _week_. In my _ass_.”

“Yes, yes, I know. But look, here is a bed! Here is a mattress! What’s that, you say? A perfectly good place for fucking? You are quite right, Trevor. So glad you agree with me!”

Trevor groans, a familiar sound of resignation.

Alucard is not certain what to think. He has been flitting in and out of their lives for days now, catching fragments of conversation, observing them as they sleep, following them as they trail through the castle, occasionally calling out for him. As if he is merely sleeping somewhere and might waken at their beckon. It would be a preposterous thought, except—

It has happened once before, hasn’t it?

Alucard shivers, gathers himself. He slips away, fast as oil. He leaves behind the way Sypha sighs sweetly, how she cups a hand against Trevor’s rough, bristly cheek. How Trevor leans into it, lashes fluttering. 

Alucard tries to outrun trauma and instead, trauma runs him aground.

He is not even certain what it is that trips him up the most: the trust shared between them, the sweetness? that they are willing to fuck in the castle where people raped him? that what they are doing now is what he allowed himself to imagine that horrid night? that they might love him, that they might care, that they might touch him and hold him and—

He vomits up the squirrel he ate as a wolf earlier that day. 

Then, he keeps on vomiting.

\--

Alucard is tired. He has been a beast more than he has been a man for weeks now, and Sypha and Trevor have been in his home for at least one of those, probably two. They aren’t leaving. Alucard doesn’t understand why. Unless they are here only to ask him what the fuck is wrong with him, leaving spiked bodies on his front lawn when he is meant to be a custodian of knowledge, meant to better the world one eager, thirsty-for-knowledge soul at a time.

Maybe that’s where he went wrong.

Alucard tried for _two_ , and they—they took his trust, and they used it against him. They made him feel loved, feel wanted, feel needed. And then they raped him and tried to murder him. And then he—

Alucard is tired. 

He is lonely. He is hateful.

Most of all, he wants Sypha and Trevor to go the fuck away so he can stop feeling, stop thinking. He wants to go back to the coldness and the numbness. The pure animal pain. He wants them to stop vandalizing his kitchen. He wants to stop feeling so helplessly drawn to them, again and again. No matter how many times Alucard runs away, his feet always find his way back home.

Back to Trevor. Back to Sypha.

_Home_.

Except...Alucard is alone, isn’t he?

Yes.

He is alone.

He is always, always alone.

\--

But if he is alone, then he doesn’t understand why Trevor and Sypha keep leaving poorly prepared meals on the kitchen table. They do it for him. They have to be doing it for him. There is no one else here, no one else who _could_ be here. Only Alucard, whom they cannot find. Only Alucard, for whom they are waiting.

Alucard...hates them for it.

Hates himself more.

\--

It is likely stupid—no, it is undoubtedly _foolish_ of him—but still, Alucard begins to linger. For hours. He loiters in the shadows, stays hidden from sight, and he watches Sypha and Trevor as they begin to haul out fractured bits of his home and set it on fire out front.

_What are you doing?_ he does not ask them.

Trevor says, “You sure we should be doing this?”

“I don’t know,” Sypha shrugs, eyes bright as she watches the flames that she called upon. “But it feels like the right thing to do, does it not? We don’t know where he is. What he’s doing. But he’ll be back eventually, or come out of hiding. We should make this place a home for him. A _nice_ one.”

“We should look up necromancy in the estate,” Trevor grumbles. “Figure out a way to bring those two corpses back to life. Question them. Then I can kill them again.”

Sypha purses her lips. “You question them,” she says. “I kill them.”

“Well, now,” Trevor huffs, grinning. “That’s a bit unfair. How’s this. There’s two of them. We each get one?”

“Deal!”

Alucard does not know what they are saying. He does not understand. He dances in the flames that a Speaker magician called forth, primal and still all too human, still breakable and wrong and alone. Are they speaking of Taka? Of Sumi? Of him? 

The flames spark, leaping.

Alucard leaps higher, disappears into the sky, falls to the forest floor like a red, red star, panting for breath, heaving for it. 

He does not want them to know.

He is...ashamed.

\--

That night, he howls his grief.

When he drags his weary paws back homeward, he sees a light on the castle steps. A human shape, slender. Sypha stands there, hand raised, a perfect sphere of flame in her cupped palm. Even as a beast, Alucard’s hearing is good. Too good.

He wishes he could not hear this, but he does.

“Alucard,” Sypha says. “Adrian. Come home. The wolves are howling and they—they sound so lonely. I am afraid that you are alone, too. I do not want you to be alone. Come home to us. Please.”

Alucard feels another howl swell, wet and thick, bristling and foul, choked full of grief.

He bites it off. Whines instead, slinking along the dark edge of the woods.

He does not go home.

\--

It takes two days for him to return, and when he does he finds them once more in the kitchen. Somehow, he thinks their culinary skills have only gotten worse. It drives Alucard mad, watching them. It makes him itch, makes him twitch, makes him furious and real and—

He does not know what it makes him feel, only that it _does_.

“He’s probably staying away from your cooking,” Trevor mumbles into a bit of burnt rabbit.

Sypha kicks him under the table.

“He’s probably staying away because you stink like a bear,” Sypha grumbles into a hunk of doughy bread.

They are both wrong of course. Alucard is staying away because he deserves to be alone. Because he is unlovable. Because it is better to stay away than to return, only to have them leave again. They _left_. They will always leave. And then Alucard…

Some things will never change.

He is alone.

He is always, always alone.

\--

At night, Sypha and Trevor fuck.

Sometimes they do it during the day, but mostly they continue their little project of clearing out all the busted parts of the castle that Alucard never bothered with. They beat rugs. Clean glass. Sweep up ash and bone. Sypha releases torrents of water on stone staircases, and Trevor grunts and groans as he heaves broken masonry out of hallways.

But at night, they fuck often. Alucard is not surprised. When he dreamed of them, when he fantasized, he imagined that Trevor was insatiable, always eager to get his dick wet. The reality of it is that _Sypha_ is the one who is insatiable, eager and greedy, with Trevor laughing and groaning but willing to bend to her whim, so very willing. And then it is Trevor on his back and moaning, grasping at the bedding, and Alucard—

He remembers the feel of silk sheets against his back.

He remembers hands on his body.

He remembers—

Alucard runs and he runs and he runs, and then he has to stop so that he can be sick. He never used to get sick. Not like _this_. Now, he vomits so much there’s blood. He stays out beneath the moon and lets the wind shift through his fur after, still and silent, alone and bestial, untouchable by memory.

It is a lie, but it is one he clings to.

\--

He goes back, of course.

\--

Sypha likes to use her hands and mouth and a wooden dildo. Not that she uses it on herself. Alucard has witnessed Trevor entering her body all of twice in the time since he began watching them have sex, and they have had a _lot_ of it. Admittedly, Alucard is not always able to stay through to the finale. Mostly, he can barely make it through the preliminary. They are just…

They are very sweet to each other.

There is so much trust.

Alucard feels the need to burn his skin off after he sees that look in their eyes, the gentle way they laugh into each other’s mouths, how Sypha asks, “Like this? Is this good?” and Trevor moans back, “Fucking _hell_ woman, you know it is.”

It feels like punishment to remain, to witness their coupling.

It feels like driving a stake through his body, like being pinned burning to his mattress. He is going to break into a thousand pieces and become some jagged, horrific thing; all his twisted, monstrous angles revealed. All the soft and tender places, the vulnerable weaknesses, turned black and sullen, sunken in. 

It feels like saying: here, this is what you wanted all along, what you can never have, what you are not worthy of having.

Alucard does not know if he is punishing himself deliberately, or if he simply cannot stand to look away.

\--

Sypha is seated at the kitchen table, doing...something.

“The fuck even is that?” Trevor asks.

His head is pillowed on his folded arms, slumped into the table. He got into the wine last night, which he bitches gives him the worst headaches. Sypha says he has only himself to blame, and Alucard—

Alucard is not here.

Alucard is alone, and thus he cannot reveal himself.

He cannot say: You fucking heathen, that was a seven hundred year old bottle of wine you guzzled like it was piss poor ale. You deserve every second of that headache.

He is alone, despite these two idiots taking up residence in his castle, eating his food and drinking his wine and leaving horrible plates of inedible food for Alucard, who _is not there_. They keep doing it. Day after day, meal after meal, they are feeding a half-vampire disaster that they _know_ is not there. They are—

What?

Hoping that one of these days, the food will be eaten?

Alucard...cannot do that.

He can only wait for them to leave, to go away again. To leave him with his shame, his hatred, his grief. He cannot let them hurt him. Alucard will not survive being hurt again, not by their hands. So he cannot eat the awful food they are making, and he cannot tell Trevor that he has plebeian tastes, and he cannot second the question of what the _fuck_ even is Sypha making?

“ _This_ ,” Sypha says, tugging her thread tight, needle glinting. “Is Adrian Tepes.”

Trevor props his chin on his folded forearms, squinting over the table at her. “Ohhh. Okay, yeah. I see it. The blond bits, yeah. Ah, and you gave him leather trousers, didn’t you?”

“Of course I gave him leather trousers,” Sypha says, smiling. “He looks fantastic in them.”

Trevor rolls his eyes, immediately wincing.

Alucard would be amused at his expense, except that he is still reeling. This is Adrian Tepes? He looks good in leather? What is going on in his house, Alucard would like to know. Because this makes no sense. This is strange. He doesn’t get—

“They’re lonely, huh?” Trevor asks. 

Sypha nods, humming a little as she continues her work. “Of course they are. Little Sypha and Little Trevor are terribly lonely.”

Trevor snorts, closing his eyes and letting his head fall to the side, cheek smushed against a leather bracer. “You mean _we’re_ lonely,” he mutters. “ _He’s_ probably not lonely. He probably just, you know, fucked off to some sexy vampire brothel or something. The capital. Wherever. Somewhere not _here_ , in any case.”

“Trevor,” Sypha warns.

Trevor snorts again, but there is a furrow between his brows. “You sure there wasn’t any necromancy spell?” he asks.

“Nothing,” Sypha answers grimly. “We will have to wait for Alucard to come to us, to tell us what happened. I am...worried. If I can make certain that Little Adrian at least is not alone, then I...it’s silly, isn’t it? It’s foolish. I just thought...I just _wanted_ …”

Trevor reaches across the table, rests his big, scarred hand on the worn wood. Waits until Sypha sighs, some of the tension leaving her shoulders. She places the nearly finished doll of Alucard on top of Trevor’s hand, steadying it when Trevor suddenly turns his hand palm up, holding this—this _Little Adrian_ , and then Sypha’s hand joins his, and then they are—

“I’d burn this whole place down for him,” Sypha whispers.

Trevor grunts. “Maybe the whole world, while we’re at it.”

—they are holding him between them, a bit of fluff and thread, a silly metaphor, but still…

Trevor and Sypha hold him carefully, gently.

Lovingly. 

\--

At night Sypha kisses Trevor’s throat, pressing him back into the pillows. He goes easily, tilting his jaw to give her better access. They are naked. Their bodies move against each other slowly, Trevor’s hands on Sypha’s hips. Sypha’s knees between his thighs. 

This big man, so relaxed.

This small woman, so intent.

She asks, “What do you want?”

He says, “Whatever you want to give me.”

“That’s everything, then,” is the laughing reply.

Alucard is invisible, watching them. He thinks of the story, of the magician and the hunter who wake the sleeping soldier, who keep him through fire and bloodshed, fates linked.

He had thought—

It does not matter what he thinks.

Does it?

He’s uncertain. _They_ make him uncertain. He was so sure that it didn’t matter, that he is not allowed this after all. That he is alone, because he has to be. Always alone. Always lonely. It is what he deserves, isn’t it? It is all there is for a creature like him.

Yes.

He is alone.

He is always, always alone.

Alucard gathers himself, prepares to flee.

But Trevor says, “Not everything,” in a voice all soft, sad and strange.

“I know,” Sypha replies, in that same strange tone, so soft, so heavy with sadness. “I want him here too.”

“Do you think it’s time we leave? Go find him?”

Sypha says, “No. Where would we even begin to look? We’ll stay here. We never should have left. We owe it to him, don’t we? To stay.”

“To never leave again, you mean?” Trevor hums, thoughtful. “Can we do that? Give up saving the world, just to save him?”

Their bodies have stopped moving. Sypha has her chin pillowed on her arms, crossed over Trevor’s chest. They breathe not in sync, but nearly.

Alucard...listens.

“Yes. No. That is why we’re repairing the castle, remember? Tomorrow we will begin moving all your family’s things inside. I will find a way to fix this place. Then we will never have to leave him behind again. He can come with us!”

“It might not work,” Trevor mumbles. “Hell, let's be real here. It’s _definitely_ not going to work.”

“Then I will burn this place down,” Sypha vows.

Trevor looks at her.

Alucard...waits.

Because Sypha is talking about destroying everything. About the Belmont histories, about everything Dracula accumulated in his long life. Centuries and centuries of knowledge, burned to ash.

The last son of Belmont cannot condone it, surely.

“Okay,” Trevor says. 

“Okay?”

“Yeah. Okay.” Trevor closes his eyes, breathes deep. Smiles a little. “Fuck it all. That rat bastard of a half-vampire is worth it.”

Sypha laughs. “Yes. He is.”

Alucard...stays.

\--

After they fall asleep, Alucard manifests in the room.

He is a wolf again. It feels safer that way, for all that he is still terrified. He wants to run. He wants to stay. He wants to rip all his skin off because he hates it and what’s been done to it, all the new scars both visible and not. And he wants to push his way between the two of them, wrap them around himself and let their touch wash away his sins, his shame, his pain.

He doesn’t think it works that way, but he wishes it did.

Slowly, cautiously, Alucard slinks his way onto the bed. Sypha mumbles. Trevor grumbles. They remain sleeping, and Alucard imagines them waking in the morning to find a wolf asleep on their legs, and pants a laugh, teeth gleaming in the dark.

It is not what he truly wants.

And it is not what Trevor and Sypha have been asking for, day after day with their dogged presence, their determination, their horrid meals. It seems a weak, paltry offering. A wolf in their bed, when they seek the man they left behind. When Alucard wishes he could be that man, and not whatever he has become.

But it is...something, at least. A start.

A chance for him to become accustomed to hands on him again, fingers through rough fur. For them to speak to him, knowing he is listening even though he refuses to answer, _can’t_ answer. A chance for them to prove that he is not alone. A chance to make him _believe_ it all the way through, in his gut, his bones, all the fractured pieces of his heart.

That’s all Alucard has in him to offer.

But maybe, someday…

If they stay, if they don’t go anywhere…

Alucard huffs, gets comfortable, and allows himself to sleep. To dream. To be comforted by familiar scents, steady breathing. It is likely he will run away again. It is likely this will all go badly. But for now, he stays. He sleeps. He is…

He is not alone.  
  
  
  
  
\--  
  
  


**Author's Note:**

> thanks for reading (':


End file.
